


Throw me to the flames

by sciencebitch



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane (is mentioned), Blood, But hopefully not too slow, Drugs, Emotional Baggage, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, Fist Fights, Gun Violence, Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, Hannibal Lecter is Not a Cannibal, Hannibal is a scary mafia guy, M/M, Mafia AU, Mafia Boss Hannibal Lecter, Poor Will Graham, Possessive Hannibal Lecter, References to Drugs, Self-Esteem Issues, Slow Burn, Someone Help Will Graham, Will Graham Loves Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham is scared of Hannibal, Young Will Graham, as he should be, but also has a little crush, but his dad is, its hannigram okay, well he wants to be
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:55:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28374249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sciencebitch/pseuds/sciencebitch
Summary: “Take the cigarette.”Will shook his head but this time Lecter put it to Will’s lips and and there was nothing he could do but take a breath, his hands still tied behind his back, and cough when the smoke reached the back of his throat. Lecter smiled at this and held it out again for him. Will pressed his mouth shut but Lecter's hand lingered, holding the cigarette within Will's reach.just a load of guns, violence, unprecedented heavy emotions, bloody Hannibal and Will and ✨tension✨
Relationships: Francis Dolarhyde & Hannibal Lecter, Hannibal & Hannibal's Father, Hannibal Lecter & Margot Verger, Matthew Brown & Will Graham, Matthew brown/Will Graham only referenced, Will Graham & Hannibal's Father, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 29
Kudos: 128





	1. Collateral Damage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will is beaten up. Will is kidnapped. It's really not his fault.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoy
> 
> also there are a few Lithuanian words I've used every now and then when they are speaking to each other so don't worry, their meanings will be explained so you don't need to understand them yet :)

A fist smashed into Will's face and blood spurted from his nose. His head slammed against the wall behind him, a whirlwind of pain ricocheting around his skull. 

Hands grabbed him by his shirt and he was thrown against the wall, his body crumpling onto the concrete ground below. 

"Where's the _pinigai_ , eh? The cash?" a man screamed into his face, so close Will could feel the spit flying from his mouth. 

Will cowered away; the man's fist still inches from his bloodied nose. His other, holding Will up by the collar, banging the back of his head against the wall as he shook him. 

Will spluttered for air, the smell and taste of blood thick in his nose and mouth. "I don't-" 

He was wrenched upwards, "Don't you fucking talk to me! You shut up, give me money!" Then he was tossed to the side, the voice, rich with a European accent, still ringing in his ears. 

The man's attention turned to the boy struggling beside Will, held back by another man, who was similar size and build to his companion, though darker in complexion. The boy fought, but his arms were restrained behind his back and the first man grasped a handful of his hair. 

Will winced as he watched his friend’s head jolt backwards and his teeth grit in pain.

“You have it? You better fucking have it! Or you going to meet the _Karalius_ , you want that?” screamed the man.

The restrained boy made to say something and then, when the other man leaned in to hear, he threw his head forward and spat in his face. 

“No, Matthew!” Will yelled.

A knee to his stomach bent Matthew double and he yelled as he took two punches to the jaw. 

“Fucking American scum!” 

Will shut his eyes, but he heard Matthew slump to the ground as more blows connected. 

“ _Brolis_ , that is enough.” Another voice ceased the flurry of curses towards Matthew and Will reopened his eyes. “He must be alive to repay his debts.” said the new man, who must have emerged from the backdoor of the club into the alley only moments before. 

He was a few years younger than the other two, however just as broad, with a dark crop of straight hair that lay flat on his head. 

Will watched him slip his foot under Matthew’s body and roll him over, so he lay face up on the ground. 

“This is the one. Take him.” he said and the other two men, panting from their attack, lifted him roughly off the floor and dragged him towards a black SUV at the end of the alley. “And what is he doing?” The man cast his eyes to Will for the first time.

“You are...a friend?” he asked Will directly, when neither of the others responded. 

Will couldn’t answer. 

The man knelt down and cocked his head to the side a little as he looked at Will. “Well, good night, pretty boy.” 

His fist connected with Will’s temple and Will lost consciousness. 

\---

The black sack was ripped from Will’s head and pain blinded his mind as he came to his senses. His nose and temple burned like wildfire and the back of his head throbbed. 

He was kneeling on the marble floor of what looked like a hotel lobby, hands tied behind his back, Matthew knelt beside him, his bloodied head hanging low against his chest. 

The figures around him were indistinct in his muddied vision and their voices merged with each other. He couldn’t understand the language they were speaking and they seemed to move in slow motion, blurring into each other so one moment he could see only a few and then there were twenty surrounding him. 

His eyes glazed over again and he slipped back out of consciousness. 

What felt like only a second later, a slap to the face jolted him awake and this time he could steady his dazed mind enough to make out seven or so men and four women. Three stood around Matthew and the rest a little distance away, lined up, their hands held uniformly in front of them. He didn’t know who had slapped him. 

They all stood in silence and after only a moment, Will realised what they had been waiting for.

The double doors leading out of the lobby swung open and all eyes turned to the man who now stood in the entrance. They each dipped their heads in a bow by way of greeting, but he made no response as he entered the room. This could have only been the _Karalius_ the men had talked of before: their leader. 

His shoes clipped against the shining stone until he finally came to a stop and he set his feet evenly into the floor. 

He said something Will couldn’t understand and though everyone watched him, only the man who had knocked Will out in the alley made a move to answer. He stepped towards him and spoke again and Will was striked by their likeness. The structure of their faces were almost identical: their lips and high cheekbones, the shape of their noses and their deep set eyes. The _Karalius_ however, was much older, his hair and stubble beard greying and skin creasing around his eyes and mouth. He wore a black suit as opposed to the leather jacket his younger counterpart wore and where the latter slouched a little in his stance the other’s posture was militant, meaning though they were of similar height, the older one still managed to look down upon the younger. 

Matthew had come to and immediately began struggling, trying to free himself from the men above him. One of them yanked his head back to hold him down and this caught the attention of the _Karalius_ , who turned slowly towards him and narrowed his eyes. 

Will silently begged Matthew to stop, but he knew it was no good. Matthew had no reason to care if these people hurt him. The lack of value for his own life had been what had gotten him into this mess in the first place, and only by chance had Will been with him at the club when the debt collectors had finally found him, and so had been roped into his misgivings. He prayed these men knew as much.

“You bring me who?” the _Karalius_ asked, once more in thick European accent - something told Will Lithuanian: families emigrated from there were common in the area he lived. 

“Matthew Brown,” said the man, whose similarities in looks could only mean he was a relative to the _Karalius_. 

“You bring me a low life, who what? Owes me poker money?” 

“ _Karalius_ , you said to bring you personally the next man to refuse to repay his debts. You wished to make an example of him.” said another one of the men Will recognised from the alley. 

“ _Brolis_ , I am talking to my son right now.” replied the _Karalius_ calmly.

“Yes, _Karalius_.” The man looked down to the floor, as the _Karalius_ returned his gaze to his son. 

“You bring me…” He waved a hand in Will’s direction. “Collateral damage.” 

Will didn’t have the energy to feel offended and he guessed by the looks of him, collapsed on the floor, shirt torn and dyed red by the blood that seeped from his surely disfigured nose, he didn’t appear much more than collateral damage either. But, even so, the son's eye twitched.

The son spoke once again in Lithuanian and his father nodded. The older man gestured towards Matthew and commanded the three men around him to take him away. He started back towards the double doors he had entered from, now followed by the men dragging Matthew.

“What should I do with the other one?” asked the son and his father called back to him just before he disappeared from the room. He smirked down at Will as the reply came. 

“My father says you are guilty by the company you keep. You need to learn some respect for my family.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> new chapters soon, thanks for reading
> 
> just to say, I am not a Lithuanian speaker, so if any of the words are wrong please feel free to correct :)


	2. The First Cigarette

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Lecter children have a _nice_ conversation with Will.

Will ran to the door and flung it open. He sighed in relief as Matthew fell inside the apartment, tripping on a pair of shoes in the hallway and landing at Will’s feet. 

Will’s instinct was to reach down and embrace him, but he held himself back. Not now. That wouldn’t help anything. 

“You’re not dead,” 

Will was allowed to be relieved about that; and he was also allowed to help Matthew, no one else would anyway, so he had to. He hadn’t had to go out drinking with him last night in the first place though and he had, so what did that say? Even after two months of convincing himself it was better this way, there he was, clinging on. 

He lifted Matthew’s arm over his shoulder and half carried, half dragged him through to the living room, where he collapsed onto the sofa. 

In the light, he looked horrendous: both his eyes were swollen and black, his lip busted open in several places, nose in even worse shape than Will’s had been before he’d cleaned himself up and not to mention the bruises and rips in his clothing all over his body. 

Will’s own injuries had left him with a nose he’d had to plaster up himself, a bad headache and the occasional dizzy spell, however nothing more, but wherever they had taken Matthew after the two had been separated, he had taken likely the worst beating of his life; and Will had been there for the countless drunken nights, stumbling home with pieces of smashed beer bottles stuck in his hand or black eyes from smashing his head on table corners. He had been there for every single one in fact, and he had helped him then and he would help him now.

Will grabbed the medkit he’d used on himself from his bathroom, a towel and some water and returned to Matthew, who lay on the sofa, groaning with every breath. 

“What the fuck happened, Matt?” 

Matthew cried out and grabbed his wrist as Will took an antiseptic wipe to his cuts. 

“Fuck you!” he yelled, digging his fingers into Will’s skin.

“Hey, hey, I have to, okay?” Will felt Matthew’s grip loosen a little; he needed a distraction, so Will spoke. “It’s gonna be fine. Nothing’s broken, you’re fine.”

There was silence, but for Matthew’s rasped breaths.

“Who were those guys?” 

Even if Matthew could have answered, he didn’t need to. Will had begged him to stop the card games months ago, but since they’d been apart he’d spiralled out of control. Debts piled up and the only way to get money to repay them was to play again, and again, and again. 

Even so, even if he was so sure he knew who those people had been, he didn’t dare say it aloud. In truth, he wanted to know as little as possible about what had just happened. He didn’t need to know anything more: that would just make the whole thing harder to forget. He needed to forget it; he needed to be thankful he’d come away with his life and he needed to forget. However, he also needed to keep Matthew talking, so he took a swig from the beer he’d already opened and asked again.

Matthew opened his mouth to answer but struggled to speak. Will leaned in closer to hear him. “A...Alc...hol,” he made out and Will smiled and brought his beer to Matthew’s lips. 

He managed to clean and bandage up most of Matthew’s wounds on his top half, after having cut off the rest of his already tattered shirt. He gave him a blanket to wrap around himself and finally left him at around four in the morning. 

He laid in bed, unable to sleep, a suppressed part of him wanting nothing more than to sneak back into the living room and curl up beside Matthew on the sofa, but he knew it was just a distraction. He didn’t want Matthew. He just wanted anyone, and Matthew was easiest to think about because he was familiar. He wanted anything to take his mind away from that gigantic hotel lobby, and the suited men, and the dark room.

That’s where he’d been taken, after Matthew had gone. He'd been dragged by two other people, a man and woman, to a small room off to the side and the _Karalius’_ son had been waiting there for him. 

He had crouched down beside Will and seemed to study his face. The woman spoke instead.

“I am sure you know our father, Will. Everyone knows our father. But I- we are the younger Lecters.” Her heels clipped against the hard floor, as she walked forwards, jewellery glinting in the halflight against her black dress. 

Will didn’t even wonder how she’d known his name. 

“I’m sure you feel the same way, when I say it’s a pleasure to make your company.” 

Her brother smirked and continued to watch for Will’s reaction. 

“Don’t be rude, Will.” he said, when Will made no attempt to respond or even acknowledge either of them. “Margot, don’t let him be rude.” 

“Insulting that you think I would,” she replied, and then to Will. “You’ll answer me.”

Will shut his eyes and let his head fall back to his chest, blood smearing on his open collar. His heart was no longer racing and the dull ache of exhaustion soaked his body, as if his veins had run dry of adrenaline. Perhaps he hadn’t quite recovered from the blow to the head that had knocked him out because nothing in his mind told him how to form the words he needed; it felt as blank and as dark as the very room he sat in. 

Margot stood over him now, eyes piercing through the veil that clouded Will’s vision, but her face was blank of expression. Will tried to meet her gaze but he felt her brother’s eyes on him also and didn’t know where to look. 

“Answer me,” she repeated, lifting her foot very slowly and placing it on his leg. He tried to slide it away but the sword-edge point of her heel jabbed into his calf and he cried out in pain, pulling his knees up to his chest, his trousers ripping and the skin tearing underneath. 

“Good,” she said, a glint in her eye. “I appreciate someone who enjoys my company. Now we know you are not mute, let’s talk.” She walked a few steps back and Will squeezed his eyes shut. He wouldn’t let either of them see as the stinging in his leg made them well up. 

“A cigarette?” the Lecter son asked and Will heard the flick of a packet opening and the hiss of a lighter. He smelt smoke as Lecter breathed out and dared to open his eyes to see the lit cigarette being held towards him, but the smoke only made them water more.

“Who is Matthew to you?” Margot continued, ignoring her brother. 

Will didn’t respond: his focus stayed on Lecter’s hand in front of him.

“You like staying with guys that are braver than you, Will?” he said, eyes scanning Will’s face.

Margot said something in Lithuanian to him, which he brushed off with a wave of his hand.

“Look at you, of course you do. And I suppose _this_ is quite useless.” He gestured with the cigarette around the room. “Fear is the only respect you give, and we’ve already got that.” He smirked. “Take the cigarette.”

Will shook his head but this time Lecter put it to Will’s lips and there was nothing he could do but take a breath, his hands still tied behind his back, and cough when the smoke reached the back of his throat. Lecter smiled at this and held it out again for him. Will pressed his mouth shut but Lecter's hand lingered, holding the cigarette within Will's reach.

“Matthew. Why were you there with him, Will?” Margot said, catching Will off guard this time and he made to answer. His throat clenched when he tried to speak however, and he could only cough again. 

Margot stepped closer and Will winced as he tried to move his leg away. 

“Oh, Margot, look.” Lecter cocked his head to the side just as he’d done before in the alley. “He doesn’t know a thing.” 

Margot laughed like nothing could be less laughable. “You thought you were just out for drinks, did you?”

Will looked between them and now they were speaking to each other and he couldn’t understand a word of it. Margot turned away boredly but Lecter did not once take his eyes from Will.

Lecter sighed and seemed to concede at the end and finally got up and backed away from Will. He called for the man who had dragged Will into the room and two appeared in the doorway. They grabbed Will by the shoulders and lifted him off the ground.

“Shh,” Lecter said, when he tried to speak. “My sister says we have more important things to do than...entertain you.” He lifted Will’s chin to force him to look up at him. He smiled, breathed out a large cloud of smoke and placed the cigarette in Will’s mouth before, with a flick of his hand, letting the men take Will away. 

\---

Will rolled over, wincing and holding a hand to the back of his head as he opened one eye. The clock read 12:30 and he could hear the life of the city simmering away outside: chatter, the whir of engines, the barking of dogs. 

His eyes lingered over the cigarette stub that lay on his bedside table but he shook his head and tried to get up. His body felt stiff and sore, but he could walk and move his arms, so he made his way to the kitchen. 

He heard movement in the other room as he filled a bowl with cereal and when he entered the living room, he found Matthew sitting up on the sofa, still wrapped in the blanket.

“You okay?” Will asked, perching on the other end of the sofa. 

Matthew groaned and turned so Will could see the damage to his face. Will did his best not to react and he couldn’t deny that, with all the blood and some of the redness cleared, he did look better this morning, though better wasn’t much to feel good about. 

“How did this happen?” Matthew didn’t answer, so Will tried again. “What happens now? You have the money, right?”

“Do I look like I have the money?” Matthew growled. 

“But-”

“Stop pretending you care, Will. You got more beers?”

“Yes,” Will answered, but made no attempt to go get any. 

Matthew sighed and slumped back into the corner of the sofa. “It’s okay, Will. You don’t have to feel guilty.”

“Why would I-”

“It got out of control when you left. I couldn’t stop, but it’s not your fault.”

“I know it’s not my fault.”

“I had no one to help me and then the Lithuanians said I could pay off everyone by playing at their casino. I’m not stupid, Will, I know how it works, but what other option did I have?”

Will blinked at him and the silence cut a barrier between.

“I don’t…” Will trailed off, unable to understand what Matthew meant. 

He'd told himself he couldn’t be blamed for anything Matthew had done to himself, but why would Matthew bring it up unless some part of him did blame him? 

It wasn’t fair to put that on him. He wasn’t responsible for someone else's wellbeing. 

_But wasn’t that what a relationship was?_

They weren’t in that anymore though, _but Will had been the one to stop that. What if he’d ended things when Matthew had needed him most?_

Will had convinced himself it wasn’t healthy, but Matthew had been hurting. He’d told himself that he didn’t deserve this, but hadn’t that just been disregarding that maybe whatever Matthew was going through wasn’t his own fault either?

It was the same conversation, replaying in his head over and over, ever since they had split. Will’s conscience caught between two wrongs: he felt used, taken advantage of, but simultaneously selfish and uncaring. 

No matter what however, he'd promised himself he would never go back to Matthew. Not for pride or any sort of self importance; he just knew, if he ever did go back, he'd lose everything else he loved. Matthew did that to people. 

"You can stay here until you can walk." Will found himself saying despite everything, and he left the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will really isn't having a great time right now I know, so I apologise
> 
> like no spoilers but _love is in the air_


	3. Sacrifices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Mafia have some jobs to do. Hannibal needs to steal something back, but he finds a little more than he expects.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi, just a quick warning, there are a few lines in this chapter that are kinda graphic, so if you want to be forewarned about those, skip to end notes to see.
> 
> also there's a lack of Will and Hannibal interaction in this chapter, but I promise I'll make it worth it when it happens

Screams and smoke choked the air, flames devouring every inch of the building with scorching tongues. People howled as their skin blistered and melted while they still lived. No one answered their cries for help; the houses around stood dead and silent, not a single window lit up in the black of the night. 

But people watched. 

Terrified faces at the windows, unable to look away, invisible to anyone else but each other. The widened whites of their eyes were tiny mirrors, reflecting the fatal light, so even the very house watched itself burn. 

They watched the woman and three men, who stood in the middle of the road, emotionless as they listened to the last dying cries of the people inside. The man at the centre, Francis, held another woman, cowering at his feet. She buried her face in his trouser leg, sobbing and begging him to stop, but he forced her around to face the blaze, a gun pressed to the top of her head. 

Francis looked to the man on his left, and the two’s eyes met. Hannibal took a last look at the woman, nodded once and averted his eyes as Francis pulled the trigger. 

\---

Car doors slammed shut and Hannibal laid his head back on the headrest, letting out a deep breath. Francis sunk into the passenger seat and the woman in the lace dress, his sister, Margot, sat beside Hannibal. 

"Gun?" Hannibal asked. 

"In the flames." said Francis, without looking back, and the driver revved the engine and set off. 

They drove in silence, the billowing column of smoke disappearing quickly behind them along with the decrepit houses of the backstreets. They slowed to a crawl as the first neon lights and signs in windows and on walls appeared around them: the signature markings of the area known as the Undercity. 

The streets were suddenly alive with life and bright colours and the smell of alcohol seeped into the car. Hannibal looked out through the one way tinted windows of the SUV, watching drunks and druggies stumbling in and out of the road and half naked girls waiting on street corners. 

He heard the faintest sound of distant sirens. He turned to his sister. 

"Someone called?" 

"No one calls." she said. "They must have seen the smoke." 

Hannibal nodded and turned back to the window. She was right: in that part of town, people called the Lithuanians before they called the authorities, and they'd just displayed what happens when you broke the rules. 

The woman had done a lot more than that to receive the punishment she got, but that type of execution wasn't for her benefit at all. It was for all those that watched. 

They would have much rather kept the woman alive: she'd been a valuable asset to them for the past few years, but the killing of the family had been the punishment due and without a family she had nothing to lose, so would just as easily betray them again. However, those who still had their families, that was just a little incentive to help them keep it that way. That was how it worked, how it always worked. It was how they stayed in control. Fear was respect; and fear required intimidation. 

Outside, things had changed again, the lights were dimming to a yellowy glow and the shop fronts turned to high walls and decorative front gardens. Not so much loyalty lay here. These people were loyal only to their money, though that could create fear just the same. 

They had one more job to do tonight. 

Years ago maybe, Hannibal's head would have still been reeling from the first job. But images like that only stick in your mind until you become numb to them. It was the next job, the task at hand, that needed to be focused on. That was how they had been trained, conditioned. 

The car stopped; everyone got out; Margot flipped the boot open and Hannibal reached inside. Francis caught two rifles as they were chucked to him and handed one to the driver. Hannibal and Margot took their own, cocked them and they all strode towards the front gate. It went like clockwork. The four had worked together for years and the routines were muscle memory.

The driver, a hulk of a man with shoulders like a bull, headed the group, Hannibal behind, weapon in hand, his face cold like winter stone, wearing all black, his jacket flapping in the wind. Margot and Francis took the back, Margot’s dress hugging her body as it was pulled back by the breeze. She walked with ease despite her razor heels and let her weapon swing almost lazily at her side. 

Francis was her entire opposite, the youngest of the three Lecter siblings, but an outsider could have never guessed it. He was shortest, but built like an overqualified bodyguard, his cleft lip etched into a permanent scowl and his tight clothes accentuating his muscular frame. 

The driver started up the front step but Hannibal put a hand on his shoulder.

“Let me,” he whispered and stepped past the other man to the door. He knocked twice, briskly but lightly, “Like a friend,” He smiled back to the other three behind him, only Margot looked amused. 

After a moment, there was a scuffling and a click of a lock. As soon as the door opened a crack, Hannibal rammed his shoulder into it and the man behind was knocked backwards. There was a thud as the door swung into the wall beside it and before the man could call out, Hannibal had pounced and had his arm around his neck, hand over his mouth. 

The other three rushed in after him, moving past them through the hallway, weapons braced, checking and clearing each of the rooms. Hannibal smiled down at the man struggling in his grasp, only wearing a dressing gown and slippers, and tossed him to the floor. 

He trained his gun to the man’s head as he tried to crawl away and put his finger to his lips.

“Yes, that’s right. You don’t make a noise, Chilton. You know why we’re here.” He knelt down and took the side of the man’s face in his hand. “Look at me. Good. Now, you have a few things that belong to my _Brolis_ and I.” 

“I...I…don’t” Chilton trembled like a child and cowered away when Francis appeared above him as well. He looked down at him with such disdain, even Hannibal felt it. 

“Don’t insult us, Chilton,” Francis growled.

“I just…”

“It doesn’t end well for you, if you insult us.” Hannibal continued. 

“Okay. okay. I know. I know. It’s fine, I have-” 

“No, it is not fine, Chilton.” 

Chilton gasped, as Francis grabbed the hood of his gown and yanked him backwards across the floor. He lifted him by the neck and slammed him back down. 

“You...this is the first time I’ve seen you since…” Francis pushed down on the Chilton’s neck and Chilton's limbs flailed, arms grasping at Francis’ fingers, trying to pry them away. “I’ll end you.” Francis said.

“Not what we’re here to do, _Brolis_.” Hannibal spoke from behind the two, but even he tensed as he said it. “Now, Doctor,” 

“He’s no Doctor.” Francis spat. 

“Well then, Chilton, where are they?” Hannibal took a hand to his hair, the other still holding the gun, now towards Chilton’s stomach. 

Francis was still leant over him, but he dragged him off the floor and up against the wall, his forearm(almost the same thickness as Chilton's head) barring into his throat. 

Chilton gurgled as he tried to answer and Francis clenched his jaw but let his hold on the other man loosen just a little. 

“In- in the s-study,” 

"Good," said Hannibal, but before they could move there was a crash upstairs. Only Chilton jumped to look up.

Francis turned to Hannibal but Hannibal's eyes stayed trained firmly to Chilton. "Is there someone else here, Chilton?" Chilton frantically shook his head. "Because that would be very unfortunate." 

There was silence in the house and Hannibal fought the urge to look up. He couldn't hear Margot or the driver's voice and unease swept across him. Francis held Chilton tight, so Hannibal stepped away from the two, tightening his hand around his gun but showing none of his fear to the two men behind him. 

The silence ate away at his nerves. If someone had somehow taken on both the driver and Margot, there must be at least three or four more people up there. 

“Chilton, I thought we discussed insulting us.” he taunted, nothing in his voice betraying the busyness in his mind.

He assessed his options: move Chilton into a room and wait for whoever it was to come to them, take the stairs now and deal with whatever he found or…well, by the time he'd thought of it, he'd already chosen option three. 

He didn't need to look around to know Francis was on the same page. It was like everything: calculated, practised; they each knew what to do. He moved around the bottom of the stairs to get a better angle on the landing, just as Francis pushed Chilton forward and up the first step, holding him out in front of him like a shield. Hannibal pointed the barrel of his gun towards the top of the stairs, flicking it just once over to the right to fire a silenced shot into the corner. The shot smashed a glass vase that stood against the wall and out of the corner of his eye he saw Chilton squirm in Francis’ grasp as they slowly ascended the stairs. Hannibal waited for someone to appear at the top of the stairs.

There was another scuffle and a yelp and then the sound of steps. 

“Clear!” came Margot’s voice, but Hannibal didn’t relax. 

Francis pressed his gun to Chilton’s neck and Chilton quivered, mumbling pleas. “I will _end_ you, if you tell me one more time not to.” Francis growled.

Then, from just out of view, at the top of the stairs. “Really, Chilton, a fucking Chihuahua?” Margot appeared, a tiny, whining dog in her arms, but now Chilton didn’t dare utter a word as Francis breathed curses down his neck. 

Realisation hit Hannibal and he dropped his gun to his side, stifling his sigh of relief and raking a hand through his hair. Mistaking a chihuahua for a human attacking his sister was less dangerous than the other way around at least. 

“Well, I think it’s mine now,” Margot said and she held the dog up in the air, as if studying it. 

Without hesitation, Francis whipped his gun from Chilton’s throat and fired straight at the little dog’s head. Blood splattered the wall and the dog dropped from Margot’s outstretched hand onto the floor.

Chilton cried out in shock and then anguish and clawed at Francis’ arms trying to release himself and run to his fallen companion. “You- you- you just killed him!”

Margot pursed her lips and wiped her hand slowly on the bloodied wall, checking her dress for blood. 

“How could you- aah!” Francis pulled back Chilton’s head and stuffed his open mouth with the barrel of his gun, making him go stiff as the corpse of his dog. 

Hannibal moved towards the stairs. “Might we get what we came for now?”

\---

Hannibal pulled open the top draw of the filing cabinet, flipping through folders. Beside him, Margot had taken the other one. The muffled voices of Francis and Chilton below still carried up through the house, even within the dark confines of Chilton’s study. 

Hannibal sighed as he reached the back of the drawer and reached down for the next one. Names flicked past his fingers: Garett Hobbs, Lester Ionnoti. _Too far away_. He skipped a few. Ellen Komeda. _Very close_ , and then there: Hannibal Lecter, and just behind that, Francis too. 

He slipped the two files from their casings and held them up into the light. 

_Inmate number: 41123  
Name: Hannibal Lecter  
Facility: Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane  
Supervisor: Dr. Frederick Chilton_

This was accompanied by a mugshot photo of him, a few years younger than he was now, and tags to further files, presumably containing the extensive notes Chilton had taken during his interviews with Hannibal - that wasn’t a problem: the most Hannibal had done was ask for a coffee in one of them. 

Francis’ was much the same, so he slipped them into the inside of his jacket and nodded to Margot. When he pushed the door to shut it however, a few of the files got caught, where he had pulled them out a little to read the names. He adjusted Garett Hobbs’ file back into place, but while he was doing so, something caught his eye. The file in front of it: he recognised that name.

He pulled the papers out and his head physically moved backwards when he saw the photo. 

_Inmate number: 50012  
Name: Will Graham  
Facility: Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane  
Supervisor: Dr. Frederick Chilton_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings:  
> so people burn and die when their house gets set on fire, a woman gets shot and a dog also gets shot (I'm sorry, that sounds horrible when I write it like that, but...Mafia)
> 
> \---
> 
> Notes:  
> yes I'm proud of making Hannibal, Margot and Francis Mafia siblings 
> 
> and I'm even prouder of making Francis ripped as fuck
> 
> I was really just appreciating Mafia guy Hannibal in this chapter but next chapter there's going to be some _interesting_ Hannibal and Will scenes
> 
> p.s. this is my formal apology for killing off the tiny dog. I know it deserved better. I'm sorry. rip.


	4. Dreams And Waking Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal and Will meet again - kind of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: drug use in this chapter

“Unnecessary sacrifice,” The silhouette of the _Karalius_ shadowed the night cityscape from view. His gaze fixed over the twinkling lights and movement of cars and people on the streets below. 

“You know what he did to me,” Francis stepped to him, eyes alight with animosity, just at the thought of the man who had held him captive being so alive and well. 

“He is the most useful to us, just as he is now.” the _Karalius_ replied with insufferable calmness. 

“Four years! He _tortured_ me in that place!” 

Hannibal watched from afar, leaning against the frame of the glass doorway that opened out onto the balcony. He knew what Francis felt because it had once boiled his blood too. The thought of Chilton’s beady little eyes still blinking, his intrusive little mind still whirring away, after all he’d done, keeping them caged up, showing them off like spectacles at a zoo. 

But tonight had amused him. Seeing the Doctor had reignited the hatred inside of Francis, whereas for Hannibal, seeing that true terror in Chilton’s eyes when he’d held him at his disposal; that was enough. Chilton deserved to live the rest of his days in constant fear of the family. That was the punishment, and their use for him, for now he would do anything for them. _The self preserving coward._

Hannibal smiled as he looked down at his phone. He stared down at the message on the screen, his finger hovering over the send button for too long. He shook his head and looked back up to the conversation in front of him. 

“Let me! There’s no use for him now,” Francis’ head dropped as his father finally turned to him. “Please, let me kill him.”

“Leave.” 

Francis clenched his fists, but took a step back. He shook his head for the last time and then turned away, pushing past Hannibal and flinging the curtain that hung across the doorway aside as he left, leaving it flailing in his wake. 

Hannibal was still reluctant to move. He was torn between the screen for a moment, but then he clicked it off and stepped out onto the patio tiles.

He approached his father, taking a packet from his pocket and pulling out a lighter and a cigarette. He leant forward over the railings and held the box out towards the older man, who took one. As he lit it, he rested his elbows on the rough stone too, and looked over to Hannibal. 

Hannibal nodded his head backwards. 

“He will wait,” his father said, seeing his raised eyebrows. “It will pass.”

Hannibal nodded and looked down over the edge, his hair falling forwards over his face. The streets were alive; though so far below, he heard music and chatter drifting up on the wind. 

“You would rather be down there?” His father gestured to the crowd below: people jumping in and out of fancy cars, disappearing inside expensive looking diners and clubs, each one of them suited and their faces no doubt plastered with red-lipped smiles. “With these people. These...plastic people.” Hannibal smiled but the Karalius didn’t look amused. “You know they are only here” -he sucked on his cigarette- “to put on a show.”

“If you want me to work tomorrow, don’t tempt me.” Hannibal said, catching his father’s eye, smoke clouding from his mouth as he spoke.

The _Karalius_ laughed once. It didn’t suit him. “Boy, you don’t need me to tempt you.”

Hannibal smiled and tapped the butt of his cigarette against the stone and then placed it back in his mouth. The day was sinking into him, pressing heavy on his shoulders. The first shadows of haziness were seeping into the edges of his vision: he just might sleep tonight. 

He pulled the papers from his inside pocket and flicked his lighter open once more.

“These are the last ones,” he said, as he let the flame lick the edge of the page. It caught, and the fire spread over the surface, black carbon swallowing up the printed writing. “They know we were there, but they have no information. No records. No copies of records.” He watched as his own face was engulfed and destroyed by the fire and finally, when he could hold the page no longer, he let it fall through the air, the embers disintegrating and soon disappearing. 

The _Karalius_ didn’t respond, but Hannibal knew he was happy. Perhaps, relieved even. 

“And the other thing?” he asked instead.

Hannibal nodded. “And the other thing.” His father looked at him. “They got the message.” said Hannibal. 

The _Karalius_ nodded slowly and looked back out over the city. Hannibal took a last drag of his cigarette, squashed it against the stone and threw it off the balcony, turning away.

The curtain fell back behind him as he entered the suite and he took his hand once more to the inside of his jacket. The file he’d been careful not to pull out before, fell into his hand and he stared down at the photo. The wild, curly hair and soft eyes that didn’t belong to looking so deathly as they did in the mugshot. 

He passed no one as he walked down the corridor, carpeted in those ugly patterns of most upper class hotels, but even so the darkness of his room felt so much quieter as he entered. 

He slipped the keycard onto the back of the door handle and then used a real key to click the second lock. Inside was a wide expanse of marble floor that would have shone if he’d turned the light on, he didn’t however, relying on his familiarity of the place to pass through the shadows of the oak furniture. 

A rug softened the floor under him when he removed his shoes and then let his jacket fall onto a chair in the corner. 

He heard a distant scream as he sat down on his bed. _It was okay: that one wasn't real._

He unbuttoned his shirt, his shoulders stiff, muscles aching as he moved his arms. His finger slid over the last button and he looked down at his hands. They were slippery, warm to the touch. _That was okay: he always saw blood on his hands._

Yes, the images only stuck in his mind until he became numb to them, and it was a long time since before then, but he was alone now; and he was always going to think about something. 

His mind blurred, the haziness he’d seen before, now bringing warm clouds over his eyes. He couldn’t help but look over at the chair again. The jacket, the file...and the half empty bottle of pills. 

Maybe he should’ve only taken one, he thought, as his vision swirled.

A rush; and he smiled as the distractions kicked in. Just something to preoccupy his mind to let it drift into sleep. 

Lonely silence always felt so welcome before it came. 

He lay his head back on the pillow and his eyes followed a trail of impossible colours in the darkness. He reached his arm out to touch them, but it soon fell back limply at his side. 

A veil swept across his mind and he was all at once entirely distanced from the room. It was so tiny he could hold it between his fingers, but in the same breath he was drowning in its vastness, the bed whole oceans wide.

The shadows on the ceiling danced like demons, melding together and then stretching apart, knocking each other down and rising back up in waves of grotesque limbs and bodies. Not dancing, but fighting. Fighting to his mind's melody. 

His own silhouette formed on the ceiling as well, black and unmoving, but he was not alone anymore. Another shape appeared beside him, fainter and blurring at the edges, but there. 

He reached a hand to the other side of the bed, but his fingers clasped around only cold sheets. He turned his head ever so slowly on the pillow. He didn't need to feel him if he could see him - and he could. 

Someone lay next to him and Hannibal smiled at the sight of him. Dark, wild curls against the pillow and, when he turned to him, soft eyes, glinting out of the darkness. 

The shadows on the ceiling danced like angels above them and in his mindless state, he found his phone in his hand and hit send on the message. 

\---

_“Feed me to the wolves, Will. Throw me to the flames like you want to.”_

Matthew’s bitter last words to Will stained the back of his throat. Like shards of glass, they cut into his skin, opening up his armour. He was choking on his own helplessness, how defenseless he was, how even as the door had slammed behind Matthew, he’d had to fight not to run after him. It was pathetic; and pathetic tears rolled down his cheeks. 

Was it fear that made him so desperate to cling on? Matthew didn’t love him. Fuck, had any ever really _loved_ him? Not a good thought, tears were pouring down his face now.

He curled onto his bed and buried his head in the sheets. The stuffy smell of dust clogged his nose but he didn’t try to move, confused within this new mixture of guilt and self-pity he’d managed to reach the depths of. 

There was a time where he’d liked Matthew, and then there was a time he’d felt obliged to like Matthew. He couldn’t remember when it had flipped. No one had told him to stay, but he’d had to, after...after what? 

To be the perfect prey. So easy for someone to mislead and deceive, so easy to ensnare and take whatever they pleased. Soon all that’s left of him would be scraps, useful to no one. Maybe lonely was the best he could get.

No one had made him how he was: he just was. Barely enough to get someone’s attention and never enough to keep it. 

He lay there until his tears ran dry and all he was left with was an empty ache in the pit of his stomach. Rolling over, he felt something hard dig into his back. He slid his phone out from under him, turned it on and for a second caught a glimpse of his lockscreen before it buzzed and the screen went black: it had died. 

He tossed it to the side and let his head flop back onto the duvet. It felt late enough to sleep…

_Will stumbled along a narrow path, tripping on tree roots and fallen branches. He was panting hard, the forest of impossibly tall trees that surrounded him twisted towards him, branches clawing through the fog to snag on his clothes and grab at his ankles. He looked back, eyes wide, and was met with a wall of tangled trees and vines, even as he watched, they weaved their spider’s web, creeping forwards with reaching fingers. He had to keep moving: they would be upon him soon._

_He sped up to a jog, sharp brushes of leaves scratching at his hair. He tried to pull his head away as one took hold and stumbled to the side, his foot slipping on the muddy bank and he landed on his back on the side of the path._

_Panic rose like bile in his throat and his hands scrambled for a holding to pull himself back onto the path, his bare feet sliding in the mud._

_He froze when he heard a low growl behind him. Then he was staring it in the face, a vicious, snarling wolf; pure white fangs bared, eyes like fiery hellholes._

_It stalked towards him with ease, though it’s paws were submerged in mud, gaunt shoulder blades rolling back with each step. Will’s breath came in rasps, his hands shaking, fumbling backwards: the lamb helpless to slaughter._

_A shadow swept over him and the wolf’s eyes widened. Will looked up to see a man, much taller than himself, holding out a hand for him. His face was masked in darkness but Will could still feel the wolf so close to him, unmoving now, but still there. Will stretched his quivering hand up, but the other man ignored his raised arm completely and pushed something in his hand towards Will’s mouth. As he leaned down, his face came into view._

_“Take the cigarette,” He whispered._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok, so I didn't anticipate such a long build up and I'm worried everyone will get bored but I'm just enjoying myself too much to write it any other way. anyway, thanks for reading and thank you for anyone who has commented, left kudos and subscribed.
> 
> shower thoughts-  
> watching Hannibal S1:  
> very sweaty detective slowly loses his mind while being manipulated and taunted by a cannibalistic serial killer. and damn that food looks good. 
> 
> watching Hannibal S1 after watching S2:  
> cute boy Will is so innocent, he has no idea how he is going to end up. Please don’t be sad Will, you deserve better. Just let your psychiatrist look at you with _fondness_
> 
> Watching Hannibal S1 after watching S3:  
> two very attractive men court each other over corpse dinners. I’m sorry Will this man’s gonna make you act up. You basically deserve each other. Haha ladder scene


	5. Intruder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will meets Hannibal again and uncovers some unwelcome memories and Matthew's not quite done yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg I'm so sorry this took so long. It's been like two weeks. I just couldn't stop writing shameful one shots that will likely never see the light of day. But we're here now. I really hope you enjoy!

“What a coincidence, I was just talking to your friend.” 

Will jumped. How had he got here? He was outside and it was so bright; too bright to be night. But it was night and lights were everywhere, flashing in front of him, behind him, above him, reflected in puddles at his feet, blinking from inside buildings. 

He wrapped his coat around him to protect his shivering body but his fingers were met with soaked fabric and he became aware of raindrops running down his face. He looked down at soaked clothes and water dripping from the end of his nose and the strands of his hair that fell to the front. 

He turned around, trying to see where he could have come from, but the droplets clouded his glasses. He was on a wide street however, bustling with hurried-looking people, shielding their heads from the sky with umbrellas and skipping over puddles on the pavement. They moved around him without once looking at him, the only man that did, stood above him on the entrance steps to a hotel. 

The Lecter son regarded him as he came to his senses and stepped down a few of the steps, not quite out onto the street and still protected from the rain by the canopy of the hotel.

Will tightened his arms around himself and looked up only as far as his chest. He was wearing a similar black jacket to how Will had seen him before and black shirt, buttoned to the top and, as he approached, he slipped a pair of gloves over his hands. 

Will blinked: he didn’t know what he remembered and what was a dream. Had he…? No. 

He’d woken up in the afternoon, curled up, just as he’d fallen asleep. His eyes were not so puffy and red as the night before, but when he’d looked in the mirror, he’d cringed at his wild hair, the circles under his eyes and his skinny frame, dwarfed within an oversized shirt. 

He remembered rolling the cigarette stub from his bedside table over in his hands and that was it. Then he was here. He reached into his pockets to check if he still had it. He didn’t, only his phone. 

“Are you quite alright, Will?” Lecter asked and he finally stepped out onto the street into the hammering rain. 

Will flinched away as Lecter raised his hands towards his face, but his arms felt pinned to his sides. The taller man slid his glasses from his nose and took them to the hem of his shirt. Will blinked again, now without the condensation hindering his view. But his mind still grasped at straws for memory. 

Why here? He should know. Had he come here to find Lecter?

“You shouldn’t...you shouldn’t do that.” The words left his mouth before he even realised he’d been focussed on what Lecter had been doing. “The material isn’t soft enough. It might scratch it.” 

Lecter smiled and looked over at him again before turning back to cleaning the glasses on the corner of the material. “A cheap shirt might, yes.” he said, tilting the glasses either angle to check the lenses. “But this one, I think it will be alright.” he winked and lifted the glasses back up towards him. Will dropped his gaze and raised an unenthusiastic arm to take back his belongings. “Here,” said Lecter, now holding out a little fold of the material between his fingers to him instead. “You tell me,”

Will pulled his hand back, “No. No, thank you. I don’t need to. I’ll just trust you on that,” 

“Why would you trust me?” Lecter leaned over to replace the frames over his ears, his gloved fingers brushing across Will’s hair as he did so. “You barely know me,”

Will gulped back his words, “You don’t know me either. That…” _The photo_. That’s how he’d ended up here. 

All of a sudden he was looking up into Lecter’s face. “What was that? Why- why would you do that?” 

His phone had died in the night, but when he’d turned it on an unknown number had sent a message through. No words, just one photo. 

He must have lost himself when he saw it. 

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Will’s heartbeat quickened at the coolness of Lecter’s tone, like he was mocking him. Of course it was him that had sent the photo.

“What do you want from me? Do you want Matthew? I don’t know where he is. I can’t help you,” 

“I can find Matthew if I want to.” Lecter said, cutting off Will’s stream of words. “I can find him and kill him. Do you need me to kill him for you?”

“What? No!” 

“Well, call me when you do,” He turned away from Will.

“Wait!” Will called out, before he could walk away. “But what do you want? You can’t just do that.” Lecter seemed as if he would just ignore him. “Why would you fake that?” 

He looked back. “Sorry?” 

“You can’t just fake a document like that. There are- wh- they’ll know,” 

Lecter blinked. “What do you mean, Will?” Will was stuttering, searching Lecter’s face for anything to give him away. “I didn’t make that file, if that’s what you’re saying.”

“No! You’re lying. I’ve never- I know I haven’t.” He was breathing hard now, control of himself slipping and there was nothing he could do about it. He felt like he was looking at himself across the street, just as Lecter was watching him, and etched into his lips: _liar_.

There was a flash and he scrunched his eyes shut, but that didn’t block out the metal bars that locked down around him. 

Lecter stepped towards him but Will threw his arms up in front of his face. “Get away from me! You’re lying!” But there was no heart in his words. He turned and ran.

\---

His home felt icy cold for days. He locked himself up inside, but he couldn’t keep out what Lecter’s message had unlocked inside of him. The calm before the storm had felt like his world was frozen in layers of black ice, invisible to the eye even as those little fractures formed, but now it had been cracked wide open and what had erupted out left him deflated, reduced to only the whirring of his mind. 

The record of his life was choked in static and no one cared enough to fix it, least of all him. He locked himself up in his apartment and watched as the light ebbed away each day and the shadows danced all night. 

A phone call to say he’d lost his job. Another to say library books were overdue. He was spiralling and he couldn’t even allow himself to think about what caused it. Again. 

He didn’t think about anything that was himself. He sat in his chair, a day old mug of coffee at his side, just as it had been before, before all of this. It was a lie to say this wouldn’t have come if it hadn't been for the message. He had been teetering on the edge for months. The only difference between this time and the last, was now he was aware of it. Hyperaware, in fact. But he had never appreciated what a blissful oblivion he had been in last time, until now that he could see it coming from a mile away. 

He had memories of bars and walls but to convince himself they were not a dream was to only unlock more and more. They were seeping through the cracks under the door already but he could, if he wanted to, hold it shut for a little longer. But once more, to prolong himself of the pain was to admit it existed, and silence felt so much easier than admittance of guilt. 

_“Out! Out!”_ His father’s voice was thunder against a bleeding sky. He was a young boy, pushed out in the rain, in the mud, shaking like a leaf as he curled up into himself. His father slammed the door behind him.

The world existed only a few metres around him before it was swallowed up by the abyss of the night, leaving only the vague silhouettes of forest at the edge of the yard and the little promise of road leading off to...well, he didn’t know. 

He buried his head into his chest, tears coming easily to him, like they always had. He was overcome with despair, even before an age at which he knew what despair was. 

The wind scratched at the bare skin of his arms and he heard a crash from inside the house and a roar of the beast inside. Then he heard a little whine, much closer, and even before he opened his eyes he felt soft fur under his palm. 

A pure white puppy nuzzled her nose up against his arm, lapping her tongue over his hand. He reached forward and scooped her up, holding her close to his chest and pressing his face against her fur. She licked his cheek and he smiled, bringing her closer to protect her from the rain. He held back another shiver, not wanting to frighten her, but he knew she was as scared as he was, though he was a little less now he wasn’t alone. 

Will opened his eyes and the gloom of his apartment settled in around him. He was void of feeling; he looked around himself and he saw nothing that he recognised, though he knew all of this was meant to be his, his things. 

There was a patter on the floorboards and he turned his head to see a fluffy white dog padding towards him. His eyes welled with tears but a smile broke his lips when she brushed herself against his legs. She was older now, but her perfect coat was unadulterated with age and he picked her up once more and held her just as he’d done before. He knew this time she was as much of an illusion as she had been that day, but he felt as real as her right now. 

BANG! BANG! BANG! 

Will jumped out of his chair as the door burst open, bullets tearing the handle and lock from their holdings and slamming the door back against the wall. He ducked to the floor and heard someone crash into the room. His heart was pumping so fast he couldn’t tell if he’d already been hit. He didn’t dare to look or move; he was frozen, crouched against the carpet like a child.

“Where the FUCK are you?” The intruder screamed, footsteps pounding down the hall. 

Will’s mind was so blank and yet bursting all at the same time. His eyes darted around, desperate to find anything to protect himself with. The mug? The _table_? 

The man lunged into the room and Will’s heart felt like it stopped altogether. Matthew pointed a pistol towards him with both hands. He was raging, sweat dripping down his forehead, gulping down sharp breaths of air, everything about him looked wild. Will’s mouth fell open, his muscles seizing up and his throat constricting around the air he tried to breathe. 

He couldn’t take his eyes off the weapon and Matthew was only moving closer and closer. Closer and closer and Will couldn’t speak, couldn’t cry out. 

“Yeah, you want me to pay them off,” Matthew growled. “You give me the money!” Will cowered away, shielding his hands over his face. “LOOK AT ME!”

His hands shook but the gun never wavered from pointing straight at Will’s head. Will shuffled backwards, struggling to breathe and his stomach dropped when he felt the wall against his back. He pressed himself up against it as Matthew drew nearer. He moved around the chair, finger quivering over the trigger and whispering to himself like a mad man. 

“Matthew, please…”

“I helped you. We help each other. So you need to help me. NOW! Give me the money!” Matthew yelled, so close now, Will could feel the flecks of spit every time he shouted. 

Adrenaline burned through Will’s body but his limbs felt stiff and he didn’t dare to take his eyes off the barrel of the gun, inches from his face. But when he felt the metal push against his forehead, instinct forced through any thought and in a sudden panic, he dived to the side and scrambled away. A shot rang out and he cried out, but kept moving, no idea if it had hit him. He fell over the back of the sofa and landed hard on the ground. Another shot deafened him and his only thought was to get to the bathroom and it’s locked door. 

There was another crash and he glanced back once to see Matthew had fallen over a box on the floor. He didn’t even have time to thank whatever God there was before Matthew was struggling to his feet again and Will was careering down the hall. The bathroom on his left; the bedroom on his right. He hesitated for a single second - the locked bathroom or his phone in his bedroom - and then Matthew was upon him again.

“Aargh!” He was pulled to the ground and let off a flurry of punches into the air. Only one connected and slipped the gun from Matthew’s sweaty grasp; it skittered across the floor. Matthew lunged for it instantly, but Will pushed himself to the side, making the decision in a split second and diving right. 

He slammed the door shut behind him and ran straight for his phone. His fingers slipped over the screen and he fumbled for his password. He tried to steady his breaths but he knew it would be less than a second before the door was smashed open again. 

He’d clicked the number before he’d even realised what he was doing and then Matthew was in the room and the gun was on him again and he dropped to the floor. He rolled under the bed, instantly realising that was the worst thing he could’ve done and Matthew was above him now and he couldn’t move, couldn’t escape. 

Click. The phone picked up. “Please, help me,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so of course Will's comfort character is a tiny imaginary dog and I'm in love (the breed I was imagining was a samoyed - my friend chose it - but whatever dog you think he would need, I'm here for it)
> 
> I promise the next chapter won't take as long to come out as the last one so I hope your excited. kudos and comments are greatly appreciated! love u guys!


	6. Only If You Ask

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The man Will called to save him arrives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mention of drug use in this chapter btw and some violence

_"Please, help me."_

Hannibal took the stairs two, three, at a time. 

_"Please, it's Matthew, he's-."_

He swung his leg over his motorbike without breaking his stride and stuffed the keys into the ignition; the engine roared into life. 

_"Where are you, Will?"_

Matthew dragged Will across the floor, gun to his temple, hand clamped over his mouth. 

_"At ho- no please, Matthew. You don't ha-"_

_The line cut off._

Hannibal swerved onto the pavement, killing the engine instantly, and then he was on his feet, taking a leap over the entrance steps and ramming into the door. 

Inside was panic, people driven out into the corridors by the gunshots, shoving passed each other, some peaking out with their doors ajar, others slamming them shut or running to the exit. Hannibal pushed them aside, craning over heads to count numbers on the doors. 1, 2. Number 3, he found his target. 

He dipped to the side and everything slowed. Voices drowned out behind him and he slipped the handgun from his pocket and took a deep breath. Then he pushed the door open. 

It was dark inside, murky shapes of piled up boxes and newspapers and coats blocked the corridor. He moved past the entrance to the front room, treading lightly over the floorboards, weapon raised, finger on the trigger.

A clatter from the back room and he twisted his body towards the door, so still and listening. Nothing. He crept forward a step and moved up against the wall. Listening.

This time it was the hiss of Matthew’s voice. “See? See? You’re fucking saviour isn’t coming,” 

Hannibal clenched his jaw, the toe of his shoe pressed up to the door now, ready to fling it open. It was ever so slightly ajar and from the mirror on the opposite side of the room, he caught a glimpse of Will, Matthew standing over him, one hand holding something against his head. 

“I knew no one would come, you know that?” Will breathed ragged breaths, shaking, mumbling incoherently to Matthew. “Hmm? You know that?” Matthew was moving around Will, unable to keep still, moving the gun across his face, down to his cheek and then smoothing his hair, talking all the while. “You know I can’t fucking hear you,” He laughed twistedly, and then in a sudden outburst, slapped him around the face. “Fucking speak up! You-”

Hannibal kicked the door forward, lunging inside, halfway across the room before Matthew looked up in shock and instinctively pulled Will up in front of him. Hannibal stopped short, gun aimed at Matthew’s head. 

Matthew’s eyes looked rampaged; where Will trembled with fear, he looked electric within his own ferocity. 

“You!” he seethed. Hannibal glanced at the tip of his nose and Matthew swiped at it, but the remains of the white powder was still there. 

Hannibal stepped forward, straightening his stance to face him. 

“One step closer and I’ll shoot him!” 

Hannibal glanced at Will, whose eyes were wide now, looking up at him: there was shock within that terror too and he didn’t like it. _You doubted I’d show up._

He bit the inside of his cheek, glaring down at Will for a split second. He tried to keep his expression emotionless, but inside his head was reeling. It was as if he were looking at everything from above, observing himself and the scene, each possibility playing out before him in the same second. He would have to gamble.

He stepped back and raised both his arms out to the side in a gesture of surrender. “If you would like to shoot him, I assure you, I am a wonderful audience.” He dropped his hands to his sides and looked at Matthew indifferently. 

Will squirmed in Matthew’s grasp and Hannibal bit into the inside of his own mouth harder this time, to avoid the pull of looking down at him. Matthew’s eyes were flicking between them, twitching when he looked at Hannibal.

“What are you doing here?” he spat. “Why- how did you fucking call _him_?” He pulled Will’s head up by the chin to face him. “You think he’s gonna _stop_ me! He was-”

“Of course, I wouldn’t stop you, Matthew.” Hannibal interrupted calmly. 

“You-” Will twisted his head free for a second, but Matthew’s focus whipped back to him and he pushed the gun up under Will’s chin, silencing him. 

“You came here to fucking watch? You sick-” 

“I will shoot you, after you shoot Will.” he replied once again, without even blinking.

“You think I’ll let you!” Matthew shouted, his hysteria heightened by Hannibal’s placidity so much that he grabbed the back of Will’s hair and pulled him up to standing, forcing the gun against his throat and then bringing it to his own head. “If I wanted to die, I’d do it my fucking self!” His body shook when he laughed and he quickly moved the weapon back on Will. 

Hannibal forced a smile as Matthew’s laugh turned to a growl and he couldn’t help himself look to Will. He had his back against Matthew now, mouth open, breathing heavily and the front of his hair was soaked with sweat. Something about the way his eyes had flashed however, when Matthew had pointed the gun towards himself, that twinge of desire, Hannibal wanted him to admit that feeling. 

“If I shoot you, I won’t kill you, Matthew. If you kill Will, I have no other reason to be here than to collect the debt that you-”

“HE has it!” Matthew shook Will like a rag doll.

“Who was it you met last time, Matthew? My brother?” he smiled inwardly as recognition flickered on Matthew’s face. “Do you know what he does to people who come back a second time? Do you know what” -he glanced at Will- “ _I_ do to people?” 

All of a sudden Matthew looked just as vulnerable as Will. “I’ll pay you,” he said, all too desperately. 

“Don’t lie to me,”

“I’ll fucking kill you then!” Matthew whipped the gun up to point straight at him, but Hannibal was ready for it, and as soon as the barrel was pointed away from Will, before Matthew could commit to his shot, Hannibal had pulled the trigger.

The bullet smashed into Matthew’s right shoulder and his gun clattered to the floor. Hannibal rushed forward and pulled Will from his hold, kicking the gun out of Matthew’s reach. Will scrambled to get up but fell against Hannibal’s legs and he had to grab him by the arm to lift him off the floor. 

Will’s panting breaths were drowned out by Matthew’s cries of pain as blood spilled from his shoulder, and he curled forward under the strain of the bullet lodged inside him. 

Hannibal ignored him, gripping his arm around Will’s back now to hold him up. Will’s legs were weak under him but Hannibal kept him standing, hot flushes of relief pinking Will’s cheeks, the place where the gun had been, leaving a reddened mark just above his Adam’s apple. 

He shuddered once more and then dared to look down at Matthew, who was half way between sobs of pain and jerks of laughter, as his hands fumbled over his wound, pooling in his own blood. Hannibal studied the side of Will’s face as Will watched Matthew reach a blood-soaked hand up in front of him and stare at it, like some foreign object he was no longer able to understand. 

“I’m dead,” he said dreamily and it was almost posed as a question. Will looked back up at Hannibal with big eyes. He could feel the silent plea on the very air he breathed, but that wasn’t going to be enough. 

“Not yet,” he answered without breaking his gaze with Will.

“P-please don’t...please don’t take him…” 

“What would you have me do?” he asked, the question so far from genuine he smiled when Will carried on.

“Don’t...don’t let your brother…”

“This man was going to kill you, Will.” he said evenly, and Will’s lips quivered. Hannibal swallowed when Will’s head turned back towards Matthew.

His face was white as a sheet, blood still leaking from his shoulder, but the drugs in his system still fed him a crazed energy that left him jittering and giggling despite his mournful state. “I wasn’t really going to do it,” He dragged out his words like a child. “You know that, right?” _A dying child trying to convince the world he was not._

“Do you, Will? Do you know that?” Hannibal asked.

“I-” 

“Look at me, Will.” Will’s eyes lingered over Matthew. “Look at me.” He didn’t mean it as a threat, but he pushed the side of Will’s head round to face him and the warm metal of the gun pressed against his cheek. Will’s head snapped to face him. “Are you asking me to do something for you, Will?” They were so close, he could feel Will’s heart pounding in his chest and he looked down at his pallid skin and dampened hair. “Because if you ask, I will do it.” 

Will shook his head. “You can’t take him back there,” Hannibal just looked down at him and waited for those words whispered on the tip of Will’s tongue. 

Silence as he waited. 

“Please, kill him-” Bang. 

Blood splattered the side of Will’s face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> awwwwwww shitttttt.

**Author's Note:**

> if you feel anything is tagged wrongly or there should be different tags please also let me know
> 
> this is just for fun so all feedback good or bad is welcome :)


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